


Kids are Still Depressed when you Dress them Up

by bar2d2s



Category: The Flash (Comics)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, M/M, Suicide Attempt, Underage Drinking, post-Blackest Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 09:05:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10987752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bar2d2s/pseuds/bar2d2s
Summary: Owen fell in the pit, and Axel wonders why the hell he didn't join him.





	Kids are Still Depressed when you Dress them Up

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't something I post lightly. I've been working on this story on and off for a few weeks, mostly in the dead of night when I know I won't be disturbed for a few hours. This fic makes explicit reference to the death of Owen Mercer in Blackest Night: Flash, features an underage character attempting to self-medicate with alcohol, makes several non-explicit references to depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, and psychological trauma, and details an attempted suicide. If any of this material is even slightly upsetting for you, I'd steer clear, because I went hard on this thing.
> 
> I feel like an absolute asshole for writing this, but it's basically my coup de gras regarding Blackest Night, Owen, and the pit. I'm done with that event now, or at least I hope to be. Expect nothing but like, mutual pining Lyft driver AUs and stuff like that for a while. Maybe I'll try my hand at the A/B/O phenomenon. Anything that isn't dark and depressing.

Axel knows what chemical dependence is. His best-graded report in sophomore biology had been about the long-term effects of different chemical stimuli on the human body. He’d been his own test subject for coffee (increasing jumpiness and paranoia, blinding headaches when the caffeine crashes hit him, etc), and he’d studied his dad for the effects of alcohol. It was an easy report to write; he’d technically been conducting the study for 15 years at that point. His project had gotten him a 120%, if you tacked on the extra credit and the early turn-in points.

Then he’d dropped out of high school, built a few things in his basement that could technically have been considered acts of war, scrapped them, and defected from the life of a normal geek forever when he broke into a former supervillain’s storage locker.

He tells himself he knows what he’s doing when he convinces Mark to buy him alcohol.

“Hey man, I’m 18 now. _Almost_ 19.” A lie, he’d been 18 for all of three months, at this point. “And it’s not like I’m going out and getting fucked up, I’d be doing it here, in my room. And it’s not like I’m asking for a giant handle or nothin’.”

It was just scientific research, really. He knew from previous experiences that he hated beer. All beer. It tasted like drinking a cigarette, another thing he didn’t like. Wine was also a no-go, he practically had PTSD from all the times he’d had to drink shitty Manischewitz blackberry wine at Passover. When he was 8, he’d asked his aunt if there was a blessing that made the wine taste better. She just smacked him.

But liquor, that was a new territory entirely and so easy to get, in basically any quantity. When Mark shoved the plastic bag full of shot bottles into his arms, other hand struggling to keep the cardboard box his 12-pack came in from ripping, Axel wanted to just thank him and be on his way.

“Why’d you decide to start drinking _now_ , kid? You’ve usually avoided the stuff like it was poison.” The truth is on the tip of his tongue, but he bites it back.

“Maybe if I have a drink with you guys every now and then, you’ll stop treating me like I’m in diapers.” Mark shakes his head, even grins a bit. He can’t detect the lie.

“Then my advice? Drink the flavored stuff on your own time, Len can smell that shit a mile away. Claims it gives him cavities. And maybe start with the Bailey’s, it’s basically training liquor.” With a smile and a mocking salute, Mark was off to join the others. For cards, beer, bad TV, Axel really had no idea what they did to fill their nights now.

When they weren’t fighting zombies and shoving perfectly good teammates into pits-

He wasn’t even in his room when he pulled out the shot of Bailey’s, opening the cap with his teeth. There was a little cracking noise the seal made, and it sounded like bones. The drink was creamy, with a sharp taste that smacked him in the sinuses. He drank half the bottle in one go, and didn’t even cough when he swallowed.

_That’s impressive._

The voice that laughed in the back of his mind was full of warmth, the echo of a conversation twisted to fit the now. “Don’t start now. Please don’t.”

“Ya say somethin’, Axel?” It was Evan that called out, his hearing almost ridiculously sharp. He claimed the mirror dimension dulled his senses, making everything in the real world sharper. The rest of them were convinced he’d found a new drug, something Len hadn’t busted him with yet.

“Just reading a label out loud.” Another lie. Lies upon lies. _Yeah, I’m good to go on that mission. No, I don’t mind picking up the Chinese take-out. I’m just not sleeping very well._

That last one wasn’t technically a lie. He _wasn’t_ sleeping well. His bed felt too large and empty, and every time he closed his eyes, he saw a giant pit. Like the well in the ring. Seven days. God, he hated that movie.

He drinks the rest of the Bailey’s shot, and it settles warm in the pit of his stomach. After closing and locking the door to his claimed room, Axel lines up the bottles Mark had gotten him on the bent TV tray table he’d found on the side of the road. There were 9 left now, and they mostly seemed to be various flavors of vodka and rum, though there was the odd bottle of whiskey and gin, and a lone bottle of tequila. He’s got bottled water in here which he’ll probably need, what with all the booze he plans on drinking, but right now he only wants to forget. To be numb. His brain has been buzzing constantly for the past two months, ever since the Rogues had stumbled back into his life with tales about a planet that was one giant death trap _before_ the government dropped every supervillain in the world on it. But this week in particular...it had been bad. The dead walked the earth, he’d almost died five times over and Owen. Oh, Owen.

Owen had looked...Owen had looked like shit, really. He’d dropped fifteen pounds easy in the week since Axel had seen him, his face gaunt and haggard, like a man twice his age. He was dirty, to the point that the bright orange of his hair was more of a dark red, clothes stained with dirt and blood. Axel was used to his heart speeding up at the sight of him, but not in fear. Never in fear. He shouldn’t have to be afraid of Owen.

Not that he can be _anything_ about Owen ever again. He’s dead.

Axel winces at the crack the seal of the second bottle makes, sniffing the liquid inside. It was punishingly sugary, which seemed fitting, as it was apparently supposed to be Fruit Loop-flavored vodka. The taste wasn’t bad, might be better if he cut it with something. He briefly wondered if it would go well with Monster but...that seemed like a disaster in the making. Now normally, Axel loved those. He was a walking disaster. But adding a downer to an upper might actually kill him.

Like Len killed Owen, one strong arm shoving the skinny, off-balance man into the zombie pit, feeding him to his own father. Like Axel had helped to kill that Kid Zoom guy.

Not that he was his first kill, or anything. Axel had killed before. Four rich college kids had hired him to teach them how to be superheroes. He hadn’t been _planning_ on killing them, just robbing them of their magic artifacts and maybe roughing them up a bit, but then one of them had _recognized_ him and copped an attitude.

“I thought all the villains in the world were supposed to be gone? Guess you’re not a legit hero _or_ a villain.”

After that, it was really just to prove a point to himself. He could be hard, without the other Rogues backing him up. He was the biggest bad in Keystone _and_ Central without them around. All they had on him was age and experience, but those things come with time, and time wasn’t exactly on the other Rogues’ side. They were old men, he was the new hotness.

Axel hiccuped, then giggled to himself. Well, if his goal was to be numb, it wasn’t working. He was definitely feeling something. The warmth in his stomach had spread to his limbs, and he pulled off his overshirt. The third bottle he picked up was also vodka, whipped cream flavor. It tasted more like vanilla, and Axel made a note to try it in a Coke sometime. Even when you could get whatever you wanted, cans of vanilla Coke were still surprisingly elusive.

He’d run his own gang, while the other Rogues were gone. They’d caused mayhem and madness, and been a total pain in the ass for any cop or cape that dared cross them. He didn’t like the guns, but it wasn’t like he wanted to actually teach them how to use any of his tricks. He’d heard about Chillblaine. He wasn’t _stupid_.

Bottle four was a rum this time, something fruity and sweet. Coconut, mostly, but there might be some other fruits in there. It was milder than the vodkas, and Axel found that next to the Bailey’s, he liked it the best. He finished it in one go, then wobbled to the door. He really, really needed to pee. Though he tried to be quiet, he ended up stumbling into the wall next to the bathroom door instead of walking through it, and managed to attract the attention of his fearless leader himself.

“What’s with you?” Len stared down at him through his shades, and Axel didn’t even have to fake the smile he beamed up at him.

“The scientific method, boss. Sorta. Look, I really gotta see a man about a camel, ‘cause I’m not holding water too well right now. Ha! Get it?” The older man shook his head, but moved aside so Axel could get himself to the toilet.

His head was a bit clearer after he’d finished, splashing a bit of water on his face for good measure. Everyone else was still in the main room with their beer and what sounded like the nightly news. Apparently, Superman had done a thing again. Superhero-specific journalists had to be making _bank_ these days, what with all the deaths and rebirths and zombies and-

Owen fell. Into the pit.

Axel gasped aloud, then flattened himself against the wall when Evan’s head snapped his way. “What you say, Ax?”

“Nothing!” His voice cracked on the second syllable, and they all laughed. Good. He was the kid again, but in a good way. He wasn’t the stupid kid, the annoying kid, the useless kid. He was the funny kid, who was small enough to be used as an armrest. An armrest that cracked jokes. Make enough jokes, and no one will think you’re hiding your fear. They’ll just think that’s how you are.

He’d been so excited to get the real Rogues back, if only for a few minutes. His gang had been fun, but he could live without them. And hey, as far as he knew, at least three of them were still alive. Too bad about Jeremy and Lucas, though. He’d let them out of the mirror as fast as he could, but those guys were history. The others were fine after a lengthy hospital stay. They all quit villainy, though. Wimps. He took harder knocks from Len and the others every day. Still, in the grand scheme of things, they were lucky to get out early.

He was scared of the Rogues too, but he was in too deep to ever leave.

Bottle five, and he knew it was bottle five because of the four empties on his bed, was another vodka. Actually, most of these were vodka. Aside from the whipped cream and Fruit Loops, Mark had gotten him cinnamon churros, fluffed marshmallow, and iced cake. He placed bottle five back on the tray and grabbed a different one. Bottle five was now some kind of gin. Axel wrinkled his nose in distaste; gin smelled like Pine Sol. One sip confirmed it: gin was definitely not for him. Bottle five was re-capped and discarded mostly full. Bottle six was the marshmallow vodka, which was sweeter than the other two had been, but ultimately, very similar to the whipped cream vodka. He liked it, but would probably just end up dumping a whole bottle in his Coke. Make it last longer, and maybe disguise the smell a bit, so he could drink it around Len.

 _That’s what I like about you, you’re not afraid to try new things_.

Axel covered his face with both hands, a whining little moan escaping him. He was hearing Owen again, maybe even louder now. The alcohol was quieting his more insistent anxieties, but it was also bringing a whole host of memories around that he’d rather not deal with. Like when Owen had teased him until he’d taken a defiant draw off the other man’s beer, making a face as he did it.

_But maybe for future notice? Don’t put the neck of the bottle in your mouth. It’s a beer, Ax, not a dick._

He’d blushed furiously, and refused to talk to Owen for three days solid. God, he’d felt so many things for that man. Jealousy, over how easily he’d stepped into the whole legacy role, but pride too, because watching him was incredible. He was an artist with those stupid boomerangs, all with the barest of training from his old man. Axel had made fun of him at first, yeah, but that’s because it took maybe five good, long looks for him to realize that if he wasn’t careful, he’d end up with a crush the size of the moon. And he had. And it had been awful, then amazing, then awful again and now. Now.

Now Owen was dead, and Axel was here, holding bottle number seven, which was a tiny square bottle of Jack Daniels, and he couldn’t decide if he wanted to drink it or pitch it at the wall. He wanted to cry. He wanted to die.

When the Rogues came back, after they’d all taken care of Inertia together, Axel had hidden in his room and panicked. The level had been upped, and he wasn’t sure he could handle it. Considered leaving, jumping ship. Owen had always told him that the Outsiders wouldn’t have been a good place for him, but he was on that squad now, the government one? Task Force X? He could go over there, rob terrorist cells for Uncle Sam. It would be boring as shit, but he could do it! They’d hired actual serial killers and assassins, he’d be like a shining angel next to those guys. But he’d stayed, and then the zombies had come, and now he was stuck.

“You could always join the Teen Titans.” The tears were trapped behind the mask, but that didn’t stop his nose from running.

“You’re not real.” There wasn’t anyone else in the room, even though he’d heard that voice as clear as day.

“Yeah, I know. I think your limit is five of those things, Ax, which is pretty good, all things considered.” He swiped at his face with his wrist, then rubbed the snot on his pants. Gross.

“So are auditory hallucinations a sign I’m going crazy, or are you just haunting me?” Axel could practically _feel_ the rumble of Owen’s laugh traveling down his spine, and he shivered.

“Just think of me like the Force, baby. With you always.”

Sometimes, Axel wished he was a graceful crier; tears slipping silently down his face, breath coming only the slightest bit faster. Instead, he was a mess. He just bawled, hands clapped over his mouth so no one would hear, chest heaving like he’d just run ten miles. He hated this. Alcohol was supposed to make you numb, that’s what it did to Len and the others. That’s what it did to his dad. You drank a lot, and then you passed out, and in the morning you had a headache and a tendency to snap at people over the morning paper.

“Drinking when you’re depressed just makes it worse, y’know. You’re smarter than that.”

He wasn’t going to answer. Answering Owen meant that he’d acknowledged that he’d heard his voice. Talking to ghosts was what crazy people did. Instead, he gathered up the empty bottles and threw them into his trash bag, setting the bottle of gin on the tray with the unopened ones. It took him a few tries, but he was eventually able to grab a bottle of water from the big package by his bed, setting that on the tray as well.

“I miss you so much.” He said out loud, biting his tongue a few seconds later. So much for not talking to ghosts. “I put your scarf away, put it someplace safe, so I wouldn’t get all weepy every time I came in here and saw it on the lamp. I, I kinda. I tried to find out where you’d been staying, but every Squad member I contacted basically told me to go fuck myself, so.” The spirit gum stung as he pulled the mask off his face. As usual, he’d forgotten to loosen it first. The saline from his tears had helped a bit, though. “Your dad came back to life. He looks a lot younger that he did, not that I’ve seen him up close yet, just through mirrors and stuff. He doesn’t look like you, not really.”

And it’s a good thing, too. From what he knew about Digger, the man was insufferable. Excellent at what he did, but a complete pain in the ass. If he’d looked anything like his son, though, Axel knew in the back of his sad, lonely little mind that he’d make excuses to try and keep him around.

At some point, Axel had kicked off his shoes and socks, flopping back to the bed. He was so tired. “I’m so tired.”

“You look it. Still hot, though.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes, smudging away the remaining bits of glue. He’d wake up stuck to his pillow if he wasn’t careful.

“What am I supposed to do without you, anyway?” The same thing he’d done before, probably.

“The same thing you did whenever I wasn’t around. Live.”

It was like being punched in the stomach. This little conversation, it wasn’t some divine being granting him a last talk with the idiot who’d thrown his life away. It was all in his head. Owen is dead, Axel is drunk, and his grip on reality has finally snapped. He hopes Arkham is nicer if you go there voluntarily.

“I hate you. I hate you for dying. I hate you for never using your brain. I hate you for all that time you wasted being a good guy. I hate you for going to Joey instead of me for help with your dad.” He’s crying again, but he’s too angry to sob. “I hate that you died in front of me without even looking at me. I hate that my last memory of you is, is the sound you made as your dad ripped your heart out. I hate that, that even after all of the _stupid bullshit_ you pulled, I, I just, I-” The words are getting stuck behind the lump in his throat. He forces them out. “I still wanted to die with you there, instead of coming back here.”

There. It was out. The big secret he’d been holding in. He’d rather be dead than be a Rogue, at least right now. He was scared. He was miserable. He wanted to die.

“Yeah well guess what, you didn’t.”

Axel shot up the bed, scooting as quickly as his dizzy body would let him. That voice didn’t come from inside his head. That voice came from the doorway, where Len was standing. He kicked the door closed behind him, but didn’t venture further inward. “You were yelling. Getting stuff off your chest?”

Amazingly, Len didn’t look mad. Maybe it was because he wasn’t wearing his glasses, but he just looked...old. Sad. “Y-yeah. I just. I just wanted to-” Len grabbed a couple of the full bottles off his tray, snorting as he looked them over.

“Mark pick these out for you? This flavored shit is disgusting.”

“He got me Bailey’s, too.” Axel felt weirdly defensive of Mark’s choices. He’d liked them, for the most part. Len snorted again.

“That’s just alcoholic chocolate milk. So yeah, I can see why he’d get it for you. You always wanna start your kid brother out easy.”

It had to be a trick. The Rogues treated him like crap, for the most part. Like a target, like their own personal jester. They didn’t actually think of him as one of them.

Len was on the move again, grabbing the empty bottles out of the trash. He whistled low, glancing over at Axel. “Five? Damn, son. Kid your size should be out cold after three.”

“I’ve been drinking water.” He replied lamely, still curled up against the wall. The mattress dipped as Len sat on the very edge of his bed.

“You always were a smart kid, that’s why we let you stay. Axel-” Len cut himself off, and it was then Axel noticed how glassy his eyes were. Of course. “You’re...a good Rogue. You learn quickly. You can listen. But if you’re not, if you don’t think this is the life you want, it’s still early enough for you to leave. No one’s gonna force you to stay.” His knees creaked as he stood, and Len scowled to himself. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, then made his way to the door. Just before he closed it behind him, Len turned back. “But I hope you do.”

Axel’s eyelids felt heavy. His entire body felt like it was made of stone. He was tired, so tired, and all he wanted to do was sleep. So he did.

 

***

 

Axel woke to an unpleasantly dry mouth. His lips were cracking in the places he’d been licking them with his sandpaper tongue all night, and his throat hurt. The part of his brain that was still collecting data was pleased to note that he didn’t have a headache, but the rest of him was less pleased to see that he’d sweated all the alcohol out of his body in the night. His clothes reeked, as did the sheets he’d instinctively burrito’d himself in after he’d passed out. The whole room would need to be aired out. But first, a shower.

It was early enough that Axel wasn’t expecting to bump into anyone, but lord knows Murphy never takes a day off. So instead of being able to jump right into the not quite freezing comfort of the first shower of the day, he was forced to hover around the door, waiting for Mark to finish shaving.

“You don’t seem dead. How many you get through?” Axel clenched his eyes shut. Light hadn’t bothered him, but sound was starting to aggravate him.

“Five, plus a little of the gin. I don’t like gin.” Mark snorted, splashing water on his face to wash off the last of the shave gel. It had such a strong smell, Axel could practically taste it. It made his temples throb.

“Hey, I had to try. You might like it down the line, god knows I was mainlining beer and vodka until I was almost 30. At some point, your palate will refine itself.”

 _So why do you still drink shitty beer all the time_ , Axel didn’t ask.

“If you say so. Mind if I..?” He gestured at the shower, and Mark left without another word. Thank heaven for little miracles, his grandma would have said. Axel wonders if she’s still alive.

His shower breathes just enough life into him that Axel feels up to actually picking up a bit, afterwards. Old newspapers and magazines that have been piling up are stuffed into his trash bag along with paper plates, soda cans, water bottles, and other bits of trash. It’s when he’s throwing his scattered clothes into a partially-crushed wicker laundry basket that he finds the shirt.

It was a hideous shirt. Traffic cone orange, with a little stick figure guy puking on it. He’d hated it the moment he saw it and had said so, which was why Owen wore it around him all the time. Eventually, enough of his clothes had made their way into Axel’s room that he’d been able to ferret the shirt away, a little surprise for Axel to find when he eventually cleaned up this dump.

Or so Axel guessed. Owen could have just tossed it in a corner at one point and grabbed a closer shirt before he left, then forgot about it. He’d never really know. The shirt stank like the awful hipster aftershave Owen used. Had used. Axel blinks once, twice. If he sits very still and doesn’t breathe in too deeply, he won’t be able to smell the shirt anymore. Then he won’t start crying again. He kneels on the floor clutching the shirt for a good twenty minutes before his legs start to go numb, his head already light from the lack of air.

It’s when he starts to pitch forward that Axel finally has the strength to throw the shirt backwards, into the mess of his sheets. He’ll wash them all together. Problem solved. His hands are shaking as he gathers up the rest of his clothes, primed and ready to find something else of Owen’s. A pair of his boxers, one of his ratty tanks.

_I can’t keep doing this._

“Mark!” Axel yells, his arms full of laundry. It takes a few minutes, but the older man eventually sticks his head through the open door. “Hey, if I give you money, will you get something for me?” Mark cracks a grin.

 

***

 

He knows what he likes, now. Sugary vodkas, Bailey’s, fruity rum. Mark buys him a relatively large bottle of Bailey’s, almost two liters, and smaller bottles of the other drinks he’d listed. Axel had given him $100, and hadn’t been expecting change.

He also hadn’t been expecting to have to hang out with the Rogues that night, but life can’t be avoided forever. At least tonight they’d put on a movie.

Axel loved the couch in their makeshift living room. He and his boys had stolen it right off a City Furniture truck, as well as a few chairs and a table. 

“Why’re we stealing this lameass shit?” Lucas had complained at first. Then Axel had kicked him in the back of the neck, sweeping an arm around their hideout.

“Because almost everything in this dump is _broken_ , and I’m sick of eating on the floor. It’s called being civilized, dumbass.” That same day, he’d had his crew steal a good washer and dryer while he rehung a few doors and fixed the drip in the bathroom sink. While the Rogues had been gone, he’d turned their junky little meetup spot into his _home_.

It didn’t feel like home anymore.

Mark had told him to just keep the bottle of Bailey’s nearby, because if he kept getting up to get more during the movie, they’d have to keep _stopping_  the movie, and then they’d never get to the bit where that punk bitch Anakin Skywalker became Darth Vader.

“This is so _boring_.” Evan complained at one point, midway through the movie. Palpatine and Anakin were having a conversation at the opera. Axel actually loved this part, it was one of the few scenes that made watching the prequels worthwhile. “I dinnae _care_  aboot Darth Pisshat th’ Dobber. When’s the fightin’ get on?”

“Inna lil bit.” Axel said quietly, more into his cup than at anyone. He’d been finishing his drink every time he recognized a meme, but it didn’t look like anyone had noticed. Len had dropped off after his fourth beer, and Mick was engrossed with the movie. He should have found it funny that Mick would be so into space politics, but something was different tonight. 

Maybe it was because he’d spent the whole dance with one partner, but the numbness he’d been seeking the night before had finally arrived. His eyelids were drooping, but he wasn’t tired. At one point, Evan poked him in the shoulder.

“Oi. Whossat?” They’d reached the scene in Palpatine’s office, with the Jedi coming to arrest him. Axel’s arm waved a bit as he pointed them out.

“Sam Jackson’s Mace Windu. Green guy’s Kit Fisto. Horn guy is Saesee Tiin. The first guy to die is Agen Kolar.” Mark and Evan exchanged a glance over his head, then burst into laughter.

“You’re never allowed to call me a nerd again, you know that, right?” Mark chuckled, ruffling his hair. “Oh look, the clone troops are assembling.”

Axel watched Obi Wan Kenobi fall off his varactyl, bile rising in his throat. He fell in the pit.

“Who’s the conehead?” Evan asked, jostling Axel’s cup hand.

“Ki-Adi-Mundi.” He fell in the pit.

“And the blue lass?”

“Aayla Secura.” He fell in the pit.

“How about the pilot guy?” Mark was joining in now, and Axel swallowed.

“Plo Koon.” He fell.

“What about the guy on the bike?”

“Girl. Stass Allie.” In the pit. 

Evan made a noise in the back of his throat when Anakin walked in on the younglings. “Oh, nae he ain’t gonna-”

Axel never got to hear what Evan meant to say. He passed out.

 

***

 

He woke on the couch, head pounding. Len was still knocked out in his chair, but the others were gone. By the nature of the sounds from Evan’s room, Axel was lead to assume that he and Mark were happily occupied with something other than Star Wars. He nearly screamed when something cold was pressed to the back of his sweating, clammy neck.

“You weren’t out too long, maybe a half hour.” Mick said, not moving away until Axel had taken the water bottle. He desperately needed to pee, but he was also so dehydrated, his skin hurt. Worst of both worlds. “Go easy on that stuff, will you? Only got one liver.”

“What do you care?” Axel mumbled into the mouth of the bottle. Mick smacked him upside the head, but gently. More of a tap than anything.

“I care.” He replied. Simple and to the point. Axel just shook his head, stumbling over his feet on the way to the bathroom. Mick didn’t actually care.

None of them did.

 

***

 

The next morning came brighter and earlier than he’d been expecting. At least he’s in bed this time, curled around his pillow, his blankets tucked up to his neck. There’s a familiar, comforting smell coming from somewhere nearby, and Axel nuzzles his face further into the case-less cushion, ducking a bit under the covers. Then the scent gut-checks him like a beanbag fired from a trebuchet, and he jerks so hard he falls to the floor. Without even realizing it, Axel had changed into the hideous orange shirt that had been laying, unwashed, on his bed.

He’s wearing his dead boyfriend’s shirt. He’s going to throw up.

Luckily, Evan doesn’t question him barging in while the other man is in the shower. He wouldn’t have been able to answer, anyway. He’d barely made it in time, his vomit almost entirely liquid. Evan chokes as his laughter is cut off by water.

“An’ good mornin’ to you too, geek.” Axel only flipped him off and to be extra insulting, he did it the British way. “Oh, come off it. Ye cannae tell me yer no’. You knew all them dead ones.”

 _Sometimes it’s like I only know dead ones_ , Axel didn’t say. It was too early for that kind of talk.

“I liked the Clone Wars TV show.” He said instead, even if it felt a little lame. “All those guys showed up. I got to know them. And then I got to watch them die.”

He could have blamed the smallness of his voice on the fact he’d just thrown up, but it looked like Evan knew better. Axel was polite enough to avert his eyes while Evan got out of the shower and into a towel, though. He also didn’t bring up the bite mark, which both of them probably appreciated. However, instead of leaving him to his misery, Evan leaned against the sink.

“Ye’ve been off, Axel. For weeks. It’s like workin’ with a dead man.” Evan watched the way his shoulders went stiff, nodding. “Yer still thinkin’ about it, aye? The dead Rogues.”

_One more than the others._

“Kinda.” Evan didn’t scare him. Evan had never scared him. Maybe it was that legacy bond, maybe it was because Evan was on thinner ice than he was because of the drugs, maybe it was because Evan had never really copped an attitude the way everyone else had. Maybe it was because Evan was just as vulnerable as he was, in this weird moment. “I can’t stop. I see them at night.”

Evan’s eyes were never soft, or pitying, but they did hold a sort of understanding. “I can get ye somethin’ for sleep, but I don’ think ye’ll want it.” He wasn’t wrong. That’s what the alcohol was supposed to be for, after all, and that route was just going _so well_. “I can’t say I know what yer goin’ through righ’ now, but if you want to,” He gestured, his suggestions of _talking it out_  going unsaid. “I’m here. I am. And mebbe Mark is, too.” Evan leaned down, ruffling Axel’s hair like Mark had the night before, then left. Axel leaned his forehead against the cool porcelain of the toilet, his eyes clenched shut.

_I’m sorry._

 

***

 

Axel had drank the rest of his Bailey’s over the course of the day, while the others were out on a job. He’d claimed a bum stomach, and Len had just shrugged.

“You don’t work, you don’t get paid.” He’d said, and Axel had hung his head. “Try and be better by tomorrow.”

“I will.” He had promised, a lie. He wasn’t planning on seeing tomorrow.

The water in the tub had been steaming when he got in, but was only vaguely warm now. Once he’d finished his giant bottle, he started in on the smaller ones. Alcohol made him tired. It would be so easy this way, just falling asleep. Slipping under the water, nice and peaceful, and not coming back up. It was a coward’s way out, but it was all he could think of. He didn’t like pills, and his blood clotted too fast to make slitting anything worth it. 

“Get out of the tub, Ax.”

It was almost funny. Axel had never seen Owen wear that expression before, but it was so vivid in his mind’s eye, it was like he was seeing a specter right there in the bathroom. In another life, maybe he could have had some kind of artistic talent. Drawn portraits. 

“You’re in my head.” He said, proud that his slurring was at a minimum. “Can’t, anyway.”

Axel could barely lift his head, let alone stand to leave the tub. His body felt heavy, but in a nice way. Relaxed. It knew what was going to happen, and accepted it.

“You’re too young to die.”

 _And you weren’t?_   Axel wants to demand, but his lips refused to cooperate.

He feels a little bad, doing this here of all places, but the Rogues won’t really mind. They won’t make a scene. Probably won’t even bury him in Avernus, just throw him out with the trash. Dead kid in the bathtub, business as usual.

 _I loved you so much_ , he thinks at the distressed afterimage of Owen that isn’t there. _And I loved being a Rogue, for what it’s worth. They were the shittiest family, but they were mine._

His eyes are slipping closed, and then he’s going down.

As far as last thoughts go, they’re not bad ones.

 

***

 

Axel had thought that death was supposed to be quiet and painless. Dying, that could hurt like a bitch, but death? Bright light, disconnecting from your body, boom. Done.

Instead there was yelling, and splashing, and his chest hurt. Then everything hurt, because he was being repeatedly struck with lightning, to the point he’d begun to vomit up everything he’d drank that day. He feels his body being heaved over the toilet. When the haze finally cleared from his vision, and his limbs stopped twitching every other second, he was surprised to see Mark there. In the bathroom, sitting back on his heels, his front soaking wet. He was still yelling, but it took another few seconds for the white noise to leave his ears.

“- _fuck_  were you thinking, you selfish little _asshole_  I should put you in the ground _myself_ -”

Axel was expecting his brain to be fuzzy, but between the emergency CPR, the lightning, and then the puking, he was completely sober. Three things immediately registered:

First off, Mark had come back to the hideout alone. His racket would have drawn the others in, if only out of curiosity, had they come with him. Next, Mark was shaking. It was probably mostly in anger, but the waves of worry coming off him were too potent to ignore. Last, he was definitely, 100% alive.

Funny that one came last.

“Why?”

Mark stopped speaking. Axel’s voice was soft, softer than he’d ever heard himself speak before. It sounded brittle. Mark rubbed his temples, making an effort to calm down before saying anything else.

“Have you ever read Frost?”

Of course he had. He’d really liked his English classes in school, even the ones that forced Dickens on him. There was an essay he’d never turned in in his old bedroom at his mom’s house titled ‘Charles Dickens and the Caricature: How He Shaped the Modern Jewish Stereotype and Promoted Casual Antisemitism’. Unless she’d thrown it away. Someday, Axel was going to sit down and tell Mark to read some new goddamn books, because the ‘classics’ tended to be written by racist old white men, and women who loved to romanticize assholes and villainize other women. 

Today wasn’t that day, but if Mark pulled out that stupid quote about life going on...

“Frost once wrote that home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.” 

_So?_

“That doesn’t really apply here, Mark.” His throat felt like it was full of burrs. “You guys have been hazing me within an inch of my life for months. Y’all keep making it real clear that even though I fixed this place up, this isn’t my home.” Mark’s brows knit together in confusion, and Axel hated him in that moment, more than he’d ever hated anyone in his life. “After you came back-”

“I could have sworn we’d lightened up after Inertia.” He said, tone thoughtful. “We started including you in actual job planning, because you seemed to be on the level. And I can’t remember Len picking on you more than usual, especially after-” He trailed off, tapping his chest with two fingers.

Axel froze.

Not literally, of course. Well, almost literally. He was soaking wet, wearing only his boxers, and the bathroom door was open. Len kept the hideout fairly cold, below 75 most of the time, usually over 65 though. But had he really been so deep in his own mind, had he really spiraled so far down into his own personal depression pit, that he hadn’t noticed?

 _“I hope you stay,"_   Len had told him.

 _“I care,"_ Mick had said to him the other night.

 _“I’m here to talk, if you need me,”_   Evan hadn’t outright said, but he’d definitely implied.

Axel thought of all the times Mark had bought him alcohol, or messed up his hair affectionately. Mark had definitely been the one to drag out Revenge of the Sith the other night.

They’d been worried about him, all of them had, but decades of emotional constipation had stopped them from actually _saying_ anything.

“We’re all idiots, aren’t we?” Axel asked, voice tight with unshed tears. Mark leaned forward, pushing his wet hair back from his forehead.

“Speak for yourself, kid. I like to think I’m pretty smart.” He grabbed a towel from the top of the toilet, draping it around Axel’s shoulders. “Now, you go get dry and, and take a nap or something. We’re gonna talk about this later.” Axel winced. ‘We’ tended to mean everyone, and that was going to be- “Quit that, it’s just gonna be us. You think you’re the only one that’s walked to the edge and jumped? Lucky for you, a big ol’ gust of wind blew you back.”

There was a story there, and Axel was sure he’d be hearing it later but for now, Mark helped him stand. His knees were shaky, but his head didn’t spin at all. They limped back to his bedroom in silence, and Axel noticed the way Mark collected all the partially full liquor bottles. Then he was leaving.

“You’re really not going to tell anyone what happened?” Mark’s shoulders stiffened. “Because, I mean, that’s-”

“I was certain my brother was going to come back, when the dead rose.” Axel was shocked to silence. No one ever mentioned Mark’s brother. Research was the only reason Axel even knew his _name_. “When he didn’t, when my son didn’t, I slit my wrists in an attempt to join them. It was a stupid thing to do. They were at peace, and if I’d succeeded,” He trailed off, shaking his head. “But I didn’t cut the right way. I barely bled. And in the end, I’m glad I failed. My blood relations are dead, but that doesn’t mean I’m without family.”

Axel knew what he meant, though he sort of hoped Evan was in a different category than the rest of them. That was kind of weird to think about though to be fair, hadn’t he and Owen been in the same boat?

“Go to sleep, Axel. I’ll take care of...of all this. This once. Because you _won’t_  be doing this again.” It wasn’t a question. Oddly enough, that made it all the more comforting.

Axel had been an only child all his life, but now he had four brothers. Sure, he took care of them more often than they took care of him, but it was nice to know that they had his back. That they cared.

Later, hopefully tomorrow, Axel was going to have to own up to a few things, spill a few secrets he’d been holding onto. He would have to take a long, hard look at himself, and try not to blink. He would probably cry snotty, embarrassing tears. And when it was all over, who knew. Maybe he’d feel better. Maybe he’d be messed up for life.

But he’d be a Rogue. He’d always be a Rogue.

And in the end, that’s what mattered most.

**Author's Note:**

> If this is the kind of thing that upsets you and you've decided to stick it our anyway, thank you. This story took me a long time to write because I had to keep stopping. It all comes from a very dark place, one I can barely admit exists. It's hard to lose people to natural causes, let alone self-inflicted ones. "The world is not a better place without you in it" is a phrase I should have said to so many people, many of whom are now gone. 
> 
> If anything particularly awful in this story resonates with you, please consider talking to someone about those feelings. Depression has been treated like a dark secret that no one is supposed to discuss for a long time, and not opening up a dialogue can literally cost someone their life.


End file.
